Fortnight
by librophile
Summary: A while ago, I challenged myself to write one Sherlock Holmes fanfic a day for two weeks straight. I didn't quite make *every* day, but this is the result. It was also my first try at writing this series.
1. Rebound

**Date written: 9-28-12**

**Rebound**

The door was the same as any that cold, overcast day in 1893, but I in my state of mind found it the most marvelous thing of my acquaintance. It was made of weathered wood (an old house then) with a shiny brass knocker (recently replaced, by the lack of coloration) and simple stone doorstep. I took the knocker in hand and beat vigorously, only absently noting the effect my late friend possessed to the changes in my formerly non-observant character.

The door creaked open, revealing a wary gaze from the pertly-dressed maid standing there. "What do you want?"

I nodded my head to her and replied simply, "I wish to see Mr. Sigurson."

She eyed me a moment more, then the old door creaked open and I was admitted. I was then told to wait while she fetched the object of my interest.

It was only moments later that a familiar form appeared through the doorway – familiar to me only from long association, as each feature was carefully altered. We stared at each other for a moment, he undoubtedly reading my form as he would a written page while I merely confirmed his presence to my skeptical gaze. We stood in silence a moment longer before he finally spoke. "You came."

I nodded slightly, that voice instilling all the truth I needed to hear. "Yes, Holmes," I replied quietly, "I did."


	2. Mask

_This one is a 221B. _

* * *

**Date written: 9-29-12**

**Mask**

"Watson?"

He stirred, but didn't answer. I leaned with feigned nonchalance against the doorway. "Things should be cleared up by morning."

Watson nodded, but didn't speak.

I turned away, natural reticence battling with the strange urge to turn back and demand what troubled him. Finally the latter won, and with a silent sigh I backtracked to the door of our shared sitting room.

I watched for a moment, wondering when he had acquired the ability to hide emotion and waiting for him to notice my presence. Instead I found myself staring at a face that had seen far too many horrors in its lifetime, more than any man should ever encounter, alone or otherwise. For a moment his visage was so foreign I instinctively drew a breath of shock, wondering.

Then he noticed me, and as quickly as it had appeared the emotion vanished into the calm, curious face I was so familiar with. "Holmes? What are you doing still up?"

"I came to see that the fire was out," the bland response flew from my lips, masking my confusion.

Watson glanced at the fire, looking slightly surprised to see the flame now absent. "It is."

"Well." I drew myself up. "We'd best get some sleep before the morrow."

I'd thought I was the only one to wear a mask, before.


	3. Eyes

**Date written: 9-30-12**

**Eyes**

"You'll need to fill out this report, Wa – Holmes," Lestrade corrected swiftly, pushing a sheaf of papers over with a swift hand then ducking his head, watching non-obtrusively over his report as Holmes and Watson exchanged glances. For a moment they froze in that position, and just as Lestrade wondered if they would ever stop Holmes broke off, sighing, and took the papers in hand.

"We'll be back tomorrow," Holmes asserted, darting Watson an exasperated glance. "Come, Watson."

As they left, Lestrade wondered how two men, separated for three years, could have such a detailed argument with only their eyes.


	4. The Perils of Occupation

_This one is a triple-drabble._

* * *

**Date written:10-1-12**

**The Perils of Occupation**

I was the new maid of Dr. Watson's practice, there primarily for mundane purposes such as announcing visitors and keeping the entry clear. I had heard whispers about his eccentricity, particularly in his free time, but paid them no mind when I found him to be a genial, quiet man of general stature and looks. Anything else had little bearing on my position.

It was near closing time when I answered an impatient knock at the door to find a tall man with a piercing gaze staring back at me. I instinctively took a step back, startled by his appearance, and he took advantage of it to push his way past, bellowing, "_Watson!_"

Fearful of the doctor's response to this intrusion, I hastened after him to stop him from entering the good doctor's office. I was too late, as he entered mere moments before I reached him. "Watson," I heard him state excitedly, "the most intriguing thing has happened!" He then proceeded to give the barest details of a scene that made my skin prickle at the very words.

I feared the doctor might be in danger from the presence of this strange person, not trusting him in the least after hearing the strange tale he bore, and had just reached the door when I heard the doctor say calmly, "I'll get my hat." My eyes widened and I came to a dead halt in the midst of the walkway, staring as the visitor exclaimed, "Capital!"

A moment later the two of them brushed past me, the doctor giving excited, hurried instructions for the remaining chores. Then the formerly placid doctor and his companion were gone into the evening.

I stood there in blank shock for a moment before it struck me.

_So __**this **__is how he spends his weekends_.


	5. Payback

_Blame this one on reading KCS's "That Whiter Host"…_

* * *

**Written: 10-2-12**

**Payback**

Lestrade was just about to enter his office when he stopped in bewilderment. Doctor Watson was standing at the open window, oblivious to snow and freezing temperatures, and was busy doing something with his hands. Upon further inspection, he found the doctor to be absently patting snow into shape, staring down the street.

"Watson?"

Watson started, then smiled slightly. "Lestrade," he suggested calmly, "I suggest you run." And with that he threw the hard-packed snow directly at an approaching passerby.

None of the Yard could remember any incident quite as entertaining as a snow-spattered Holmes chasing Watson down the hall.


	6. Survive

**Written: 10-4-12**

**Survive**

The door had barely closed before Holmes exploded. "Blast it, Watson, what were you _thinking_? Of all the dull-witted…"

Watson stood up straight in near military posture and glared back angrily. "Saving your neck, Holmes, or do you really think he would have conveniently forgotten about you when the Yard arrived?"

"I had a plan in motion –"

"Which back-fired, and would have killed you –"

"_You_ nearly got killed! Do you really expect me to believe…"

"…That I'm that foolhardy? Well, when it comes to protecting certain suicidal detectives from their own folly, I beg to differ!"

They glared at each other, well developed self-importance against willful, mule headed over-protectiveness, detective against all-too-stubborn veteran doctor. Neither noticed the two staring officers standing in the doorway, mouths agape; then the door slid shut.

"Whew," one breathed, staring back at the door. "What was _that_?"

The other shook his head in bewilderment. "I don't know. But I do know one thing."

"What's that?"

They both glanced back at the room as the voices resumed conversing, the tone of anger slowly fading into a more controlled manner of speaking. The second officer slowly shook his head.

"We all wondered how the doctor would handle sharing a house with Holmes. Now I'm wondering how _Holmes_ survived sharing a house with _him_."


	7. Death Do Us Part

**Written: 10-4-12**

**Death Do Us Part**

Once before death passed them by – a dart, placed squarely between them so they could not tell whom it was originally aimed at. That time their own quick actions had saved them from the pains of separation.

This time, he stands alone.

But even as he stands by Sherlock Holmes' grave, he takes a deep breath. Death, he reminds himself grimly, has come between them before. He has a wife to think of, a family of his own – no-one will be served by grief over a situation none can help.

Watson does not know his 'late' friend thinks the same.


	8. Uninvited

_This one is another 221B._

* * *

**Date written: 10-5-12**

**Uninvited**

"_Look out!_"

Lestrade jerked up just in time to see Holmes and Watson dash – _dash_, not walk – through the door, then dive behind a vacant desk while simultaneously drawing their revolvers (since when did Holmes carry a firearm?). A moment later the door slammed open, and the officers in the room instinctively whipped pistols toward the door just as the room exploded with gunfire.

The Inspector noticed the doctor pulling open his medical bag, but paid it no heed – there would likely be need of a doctor before this, whatever it was, was over. Then suddenly there was a solid _thunk_, a scream of pain, and the shooters were fleeing with several officers hard on their heels.

Lestrade stared as Holmes and Watson stood up, the former pulling the latter to his feet. "Well," Watson murmured, glaring at the single remaining thug, whose hand was pinned to the wall with a scalpel, "at least we got one of them."

He couldn't help it – he slammed his fist down on the now bullet-ridden desk, watching the two unexpected (highly dangerous, reckless, infuriating) visitors jump slightly. "_Holmes_," Lestrade growled, "**_what is going on?_**"

The unlikely duo exchanged a glance; then Holmes sighed as Watson headed for the criminal, with the clear intent of treating his hand. "Maybe we'd better do this out back."


	9. Practice

_Inspired by KCS's 221B "Bruised."_

* * *

**Date written: 10-5-12**

**Practice**

_Bang!_

The old soldier jumped, nearly hitting his head on the mantle, then glanced across the room to where the veteran doctor sat reading in apparent obliviousness to the shots above. He frowned.

_Bang!_

"Doctor?"

Watson glanced up. "What?"

_Bang!_

"Does this – " he gestured toward the ceiling – "happen often?"

_Bang!_

The doctor shrugged, going back to his reading. "Weekly at least – usually when there's no case to be had, his chemicals have run out, and the Yard has banned him from the premises." He glanced up and added sensibly, "Where else would he do it?"

_Bang!_

Where else, indeed.


	10. Normal

_This was my first success at an all-dialogue format. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Date written: 10-5-12**

**Normal**

"Who was that man who just left with Watson?"

"Government representative of some sort, I think his name was Holmes…"

"Holmes!"

"Yes, that's what Watson called him. _He_ was calling Holmes – our Holmes – Sherlock. Not even the _doctor_ calls him Sherlock…"

"Why was he here?"

"Apparently he heard about Holmes's run-in with that gang – you know he didn't get out of that without injury."

"When did he get here?"

"Early. He demanded to see Holmes – at first I thought he was part of that gang, so I wouldn't let him. You know what?"

"What?"

"Our Holmes is the normal one."


	11. Tres

**Date written: 10-6-13**

**Tres**

It had been three years since his feet had touched this pavement, and that long since his friend had worn any color but black. The shock at running – literally – into said friend culminated when he automatically snapped at him for dumping his books.

Afterward, feeling remorseful, he followed the doctor to his rooms, engaging him in an absent word-play reminiscent of their long-gone conversations. Then he whisked off his disguise, waiting eagerly for his friend to turn around and have all as it was before.

It was only when Watson collapsed that Holmes realized how long three years really was.


	12. Bereaved

**10-7-12**

**Bereaved**

Flickering candlelight feebly illuminates the pages as a pen scratches slowly across them, only pausing briefly for new ink. The hours go on, but both time and the insufficient lighting are ignored in favor of a task deemed far more precious than comfort.

It is near dawn when the writer sets down his pen with a sigh and carefully binds up the papers.

* * *

The day is just closing – another day of biding time, trying to hold back thoughts of separation and deception. His eyes light upon the papers as he enters; words, however unconscious, from a friend.

"The Final Problem."


	13. Enlighten

_This one is AU, just so you know._

* * *

**10-7-12**

**Enlighten**

_My dear Watson,_

_ I know this will come as a shock, but pray do not dismiss this as a prank. I am alive, and well, and have every intention of staying as such._

_ I am afraid I must admit to waiting until your tale of "The Final Problem" reached me before sending this – I feared you would not give a convincing account otherwise. Please tell Mrs. Hudson about this missive and make sure Mycroft has carried through in keeping my belongings intact._

_ I am in search of a man named Sebastian Moran – please send word if you have any._

_ – Holmes_


	14. Letters in London

_This one is a followup to "Enlighten" and written as a series of missives. It was more of a writing exercise than anything else, though I won't deny it __was__ fun..._

* * *

**10-7-12**

**Letters in London**

* * *

SHERLOCK GET BACK HERE NOW STOP DOCTOR BADGERING ME TO DISTRACTION STOP AT LEAST SEND HIM A LETTER BEFORE HE TELLS LESTRADE STOP MYCROFT

* * *

MYCROFT STOP I HAVE NO INTENTION OF DIVERTING MY MISSION STOP TELL WATSON I AM FINE AND TO SEND ME THAT INFORMATION ON MORAN STOP SHERLOCK

* * *

HOLMES WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING STOP MORAN IN LONDON STOP HAVE SIGNED ON AS EMERGENCY POLICE SURGEON FOR SCOTLAND YARD STOP LESTRADE INVESTIGATING SUSPICIOUS DETAILS OF YOUR DISAPPEARANCE STOP SUGGESTIONS PLEASE STOP WATSON

* * *

WATSON STOP GET LESTRADE OFF TRAIL STOP IT WILL ENDANGER HIM IF MORAN FINDS OUT STOP FIND OUT WHAT DETAILS STOP SHERLOCK

* * *

HOLMES STOP WORDING OF LETTER SUSPECT STOP NOW THINKS DISAPPEARANCE WAS ABDUCTION STOP TRYING TO LOCATE MESSENGER FROM REICHENBACH STOP DO SOMETHING STOP WATSON

* * *

SHERLOCK STOP DOCTOR INVESTIGATING NEW CASE AT YARD USING YOUR METHODS STOP HAS BEEN FOLLOWED SEVERAL TIMES STOP SUGGEST YOU COMPLETE YOUR MISSION QUICKLY STOP MYCROFT

* * *

_Watson, _

_ I've heard about the new case at the Yard and your involvement. For goodness' sake be careful – I doubt Moran has left the city. Send word._

_ – Holmes_

* * *

SUSPECT MORAN KNOWS WATSON HAS HEARD FROM YOU STOP COME BACK AT ONCE STOP MYCROFT


	15. Given

**Date written: 10-8-12**

**Given**

It was a given that he would become a lawyer. He is now a retired army doctor living with London's only consulting detective.

It was a given that his wife would recover. She is now dead of a minor illness he couldn't treat.

It was a given that his friend could not have survived the fall. Said friend is now living with him again as if nothing happened.

It was a given that after a certain amount of time, formality was set aside and first names took their place.

Watson and Holmes still call each other by their last names.


	16. Contrast

**Date written: 10-8-12**

**Contrast**

They could hardly have picked three men who less resembled each other if they tried – the slim, tall Sherlock Holmes, his admittedly overweight brother, and the strongly built doctor contrasted greatly. Then their occupation: one a consulting detective, the other in some sort of government post, and the last a retired army medico.

Then too, they could not have picked three men who could read each other so implicitly, catch the slightest mark and thoroughly understand its implications, and slip unseen into places the police couldn't reach.

The officer shuddered with relief that all three were working for the Law.


	17. Before

**Date written: 10-8-12**

**Before**

The boulder smashed down where Holmes, the two officers and Watson had been standing mere moments before. It hadn't yet reached the bottom of the slope before a furious Holmes was on the man responsible, pinning him to the ground and slapping a pair of (borrowed) handcuffs on the perpetrator.

Leaving him to the hands of the Law, Holmes ran a measuring gaze over Watson as he approached. A few scrapes and cuts, some bruises – they would heal in a week, as would the similar injuries upon himself.

After all, it was hardly as if they'd never done this before.


	18. Return

_This one is another 221B, also my first try at writing an Irregular._

* * *

**Date written: 10-10-12**

**Return**

After Mr. Holmes's death, most of the Irregulars had disbanded and vanished into the back streets of London. A few, however, still dropped by Mrs. Hudson's now and then and kept her company for a bit, with the added benefit of her cooking to while away the time.

One former-Irregular approaching 221B had usually faded into the background while Mr. Holmes was here, but that didn't keep him from recognizing the man himself, walking down the street with the Doctor. With a strangled squawk, the boy dived for cover and watched wide-eyed as the two hailed a cab and vanished down the street.

"Why, what's wrong?"

The boy hastily looked up to confirm it was indeed Mrs. Hudson standing over him, hands on hips. "That were Mr. 'olmes!"

Mrs. Hudson nodded, a satisfied smile on her face as she looked the same direction. "He got back yesterday."

The boy gulped, eying the landlady. He'd seen some strange things while hunting clues for Mr. Holmes and his friend, and gotten in and out of plenty of scrapes, but this one topped them all.

He nodded a hasty goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and fled the street, doubting his sanity. Again, the sanity of anyone who had dealt with Mr. Holmes on a regular basis was in doubt, but…

Was Mr. Holmes really back?


	19. Missive

_Another AU take on the Hiatus._

* * *

**Date written: 10-10-12**

**Missive**

Mycroft Holmes had, by now, become accustomed to receiving constant, cryptically worded missives from his presumedly late brother on a monthly or bi-monthly basis. He typically scanned them, noted the most vital information, then cast said missives into the fire to prevent discovery.

This one, however, was by far not the usual half-hearted obligatory message.

Usually, the words stated Sherlock's current location, monetary status (with consequent asking for the sum to rectify the fact), and occasionally a note on his mission's standing. Nothing more, nothing less.

This time the added words, though only four, were staggering.

"Am well. Tell J.W."


	20. Countermand

**Written: 10-11-12**

**Countermand**

Holmes and Watson had always argued over Watson's writings – never too heatedly; they were too intelligent to let it get to that point; but half-sincerely – ever since Watson's first work had come out in the _Strand_. Holmes had grumbled irritably about methods and procedures and the proper technique before both wisely laid it aside.

Then his friend had begun writing a collection of shorter stories.

And this time, Holmes's irritable rejoinder was not for the quality or method of the work, but over the fact that somehow his literary counterpart had all but lost his constant companion in the process.

* * *

_And that's the last one! I'll be posting another drabble series soon, but this one is complete. I hope you enjoyed it!_


	21. Last

_Consider this a sort of post-story addition. I realized when looking over the chapters that somehow this one didn't register when I tried to post it. This was written between "Payback" (chapter 5) and "Survive" (chapter 6)._

* * *

**Written: 10-3-12**

**Last**

_Watson and Sherlock_, Mycroft muses, _are the most unlikely pair of friends I've ever seen_. One is a helplessly accomplished genius, the other an ever patient doctor, and one wonders how the two stood each other in the first place.

They are the last companions any of their former acquaintances could have expected. Scotland Yard sees it… Mrs. Hudson sees it… Mycroft sees it, but none understand.

Mycroft has often puzzled over the fact that though they share years of acquaintance, they still call each other by last name.

He doesn't realize they're also the last to leave each other.

* * *

_The End - for real this time. _:)_  
_


End file.
